


Sunday Morning

by RoseFangedLion



Series: Sticky Keys [2]
Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Neo, Fluff, M/M, plotlessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFangedLion/pseuds/RoseFangedLion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakyeon wakes up to his dear husband with a fever and all of the children to care for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

Hakyeon laid awake letting a soft sigh pass through his lips as he ran a hand across his husband's cheek pushing inky black hair away. It was rare anymore that he woke up the younger man curled against him in the bed. He was breathing shallowly through his mouth, thin lips pressed in a frown and he a layer is sweat was settled across his brow. He was burning up. Poor sweet man. Sick on a Sunday, rasping out tiny coughs, his skin flushed and his nose running. The redhead did what he could to gently nudge Taekwoon away without waking him; today he was going to get up and let daddy sleep his cold away. The baby monitor over his younger lover's shoulder sparked to life gently, crackling with tiny moans. 

The clock read 5:15 am next to the fuzzy baby gurgling white noise of the monitor and Hakyeon tried hard not to sigh in frustration. He leaned over his poor sick husband and clicked the dial all the way to off so the brewing tantrum quieted. Taekwoon stirred, his black hair splayed across his face as he rolled onto his back and mumbled before coughing and rolling the rest of the way over with an awful groan. 

"Go back to sleep," he cooed, brushing a soft kiss across his precious lover's temple.

He slipped out the end of the bed, opting not to crawl over Taekwoon, and stumbled to find his sleep shirt somewhere on the floor because he’d overheated at some point. It took some hustling to get some cold medicine to set on the nightstand before Sanghyuk went nuclear. It surprised him when he even managed to fill a glass with water and set it on the nightstand with the bottle little green pills before Hyukkie started to squeal with displeasure. 

That baby had a mouth on him. The shriek that shattered the peace probably could have also shattered glass and nearly woke Taekwoon, luckily he slept like death when he felt like it. On second though that wasn't very lucky at all...because it meant he felt like death. 

Hakyeon's heart ached at the thought.

He ran his long elegant fingers back through that beautiful, greasy black hair, pressed his lips warm and fully against Taekwoon’s burning forehead and pulled back with the taste of salty sweat dancing on his lips. Leaving the room was such torture. All he wanted to do was crawl back and cuddle his lover, hold him tight until all of the ache in his fine spindly, joints left his ailing body. 

He crossed the hall much more slowly than he had intended to, dragging his feet along the dark beige carpet, letting the chill in the air settle through his usually warm, sun kissed skin. 

As he entered the infant’s room, a pacifier was hurled at him, falling just short of his feet. “Hello baby,” Hakyeaon shushed as Hyuk screeched high and loud, hitting octaves even Taekwoon would be impressed by. 

“Datty!” the little one screamed letting it devolve into a primal cry of desperation. 

“Baby, Daddy’s sick,” He tried to explain as he picked up the projectile that had been launched at him and approached the fussy child, “Daddy needs to sleep today, so Papa is going to take care of you okay?”

SangHyuk didn't seem to care that daddy was sick, he just shouted “Datty, datty, datty,” repeatedly at the top of his tiny lungs banging and pulling on the bars of his crib. It was no secret that the tiny baby preferred his daddy to his papa but it still felt like a needle to the heart every time.

For his part, Hakyeon was doing fairly well not to get frustrated, even when Hyuk decided to be dead weight in his arms and kick all the way through his diaper change before throwing his pacifier again. Big tears streaked down his blotchy red cheeks as he squirmed and howled and stomped his chubby feet. Twice the infant attempted to roll off the changing table. Honestly, Papa was shocked when he managed to even get a shirt and stretchy sweat pants on the child before he got punched in the face. 

He sat down on the floor, settled in the lushness of an already stained blue-ish green-ish carpet with Hyuk, and ran a hand through his oily dark red hair. 

The crocodile tears began sub-siding when Hakyeon, in absolute desperation, started to hum a sweet melody that Taekwoon had taught him, it had no words yet but it was light and wafted up into the ceiling fan with grace. Finally, the little boy settled down, and started to crawl over to a discarded pacifier that was settled on the carpet. Being the worrier of the two fathers he managed to reach over and snatch it up quickly, grabbing a clean one from the drawer top drawer in the little dresser that had all of Hyuk’s cloths in it. “Here you go baby,” he offered leaning down. 

Sanghyuk took the offering gratefully, sat up on his butt and started squeezing his hands open and closed. He wanted to be picked up, finally. He hefted the little boy up onto his hip and heaved a relieved sigh and he wandered out into the open part of the house. It seemed like Hyuk had a thousand and one things to discuss in his gurgled baby talk with his head in papa’s shoulder. Auburn hair tickled the exposed skin at Hakyeon’s collarbone and he smiled for the first time that day.

Cute little boy, clapped his hands and cackled at a joke that no one else understood. Suddenly his head popped up and he said “Banka?” 

Blanket, “Bottle?” Hakyeon asked instead because he didn’t really want to fetch the little worn down green and orange blanket that was settled in a ball in Hyuk’s crib. He reached up into the cupboard for a clean bottle and found himself off balance trying to fill it in the sink left-handed with a busy baby reaching for it. 

“Sanghyuk no!” he shouted suddenly as the infant reached for the bottle almost sticking his arms through a hot water stream. He ended up dropping the plastic vessel with a solid clang in the stainless steel basin and twisting away. There was a good possibility his heart had come out his mouth and splattered in the sink too because that scared the living daylights out of him. 

He then had the joy of watching Hyuk’s face scrunch up as big salty tears welled in his dark eyes. Hakyeon tried to hush his poor baby, bouncing him with a gentle sway of his curvy dancer’s hips. 

“It’s okay baby,” he cooed, “Papa didn’t mean to shout. Don’t put your hands in hot water okay?” he chattered calmly, probably more for himself than for the child. Six months old was both a fun and frustrating age for everyone involved. Language was there, but it was also just out of reach. Hyuk understood a lot of things, but also didn’t understand a lot of things. The baby sniffled, but he didn’t scream, just let a few big tears crawl out the corner of his eyes and comforted himself by resting his head down on Hakyeon’s shoulder. 

Oh, it was going to be a day. 

“Pop?” a sleepy voice called and he spun around to face the living room at the call of his still unfamiliar name. 

“Wonshikie?” the older man was honestly surprised to see his eight-year-old son up and moving at that hour on a Sunday. Brown hair was fluffed up and poking out in all directions, the fuzzy shaved sides looked extra flat, “Did we wake you? I’m so sorry, you can go back to bed.” 

“Can I hold Hyukkie?” Wonshik asked, rubbing his chocolate eyes with the edge of his t-shirt. “That way you can make his bottle.”

“Can you go get his blanket first?” Hakyeon inquired sheepishly because he really hated asking for so much help from a child. 

“Sure,” Wonshik shrugged, shuffling to his left, back down the hallway a few short steps. 

Bless this child, Hakyeon thought. Truly though, he had been the most helpful part of the adjustment. He was kind and sweet and so oddly willing. He had taken to calling his new parents by Dad and Pop much more quickly than had been anticipated; they’d all only been together for two months then. 

Wonshik came back around the corner with the scraggly, threadbare monstrosity of a baby blanket in hand and asked “Can I hold Hyukie for you now?” 

The baby answered by leaning out, as his brother got closer and sounding out a messy set of syllables that tried to sound like “Wanfik.”

“Thank you,” Hakyeon sighed, handing the baby down. 

“Hey Hyukkie,” the sleepy boy smiled, “Geeze, you’re getting so heavy,” he groaned, taking baby and blanket over to the living room. 

Two bottles, and four nearly burnt toaster pastries later he thought it best to go get Hongbin and Jaehwan and at least bring them, whiny and clearly not awake, out in to the living room. It was a precaution really, because they made a point of always poke their heads into all of the rooms to see who was awake when they got up. Troublemakers. 

As he was resting a warm, blanket wrapped Hongbin down on the couch he felt a tug at the loose sleeve of his black shirt, “It’s past six, can we turn the TV on now?” Wonshik’s little voice whispered. 

Hakyeon sighed. On the one hand he didn’t want it to wake up the twins or his husband, on the other hand it was the accepted morning routine. “Quietly,” he offered, “Very quietly.” 

The boy nodded and their sizable flat screen flickered on as Papa wondered back towards the Twin’s room, second door past the nursery. It had finger painted, color splattered, wooden letters hung on it, H and J, naturally. Takewoon and he kept intending to seal the one Sanghyuk had ‘painted’ but they hadn’t had a chance to before the move and now it was lost in a box in the garage somewhere.

Jaehwan met him at the door, with his ratty blanket, his stuffed dog bundled up in one arm and his left thumb in his mouth. He was standing on the ends of his baggy batman pajamas and his dark brown hair was a rumpled mess. “Hello,” Hakyeon greeted. Instead of greeting back, his third youngest (by six and a half minutes) reached up and rubbed his eye, almost dropping his pup-up on the floor and then he reached out. The red headed dancer was sure he would never get tired of having little hands reach out for him. 

As he picked Jaehwan up, in an unusual moment of peace and calm the little boy curled into him instinctively, resting his head warm against Hakyeon’s skin, refusing to remove his thumb from his mouth. 

The morning was calm enough, everyone got fed, and he only spilled his second cup of coffee, not his first, or his third, on the floor in the kitchen when Hongbin unleashed a shrill anguished scream of displeasure. If the older man hadn’t been so quick on his feet he probably would have scalded them…that would have made his company director happy…

It turned out the scream was over a toy, as were many of the ones that followed well into the afternoon. Screams about toys, scream about hunger, screams about boredom, screams for pain, “Hongbin don’t pull on Sanghyuk like that, he’s just a baby!” and of course screams no reason at all. 

How many times had he said, “Don’t do that?” or shouted a child’s name while rubbing his own temples? Suddenly it was three in the afternoon and they had completely forgotten lunch in favor of naptime, well…accidental naptime. Hakyeon had really not intended to fall asleep sprawled out on the floor, tangled up with his three youngest kiddos, half under the coffee table. 

Wonshik was laying down on the couch when his stomach made its loudest protest yet and he wandered into the kitchen, almost tripping over his weird family. He was smart for an eight year old and took a moment to gently move Sanghyuk from the floor to his playpen, because he was sure that Papa wouldn’t want Hyukkie just crawling around on his own if he woke up. The baby didn’t even wake up, barely stirred, even when his big brother almost dropped him because good grief he was getting heavy. 

The only thing he found in the cupboard that he knew how to make was ramen. There was box macaroni but he wasn’t confident in his ability to balance a nearly full gallon of milk and Daddy made the best macaroni ever. Way better than he had ever made it. Besides, he used to make ramen a lot when he was living with his mom, it was all they had a lot of the time and she was never home to make food for his brothers. He could even make a bottle if he had to. It was nice not to have to. 

It was nice to have two parents, and to have one of them home all of the time. It was nice to have a dad. He never thought he would have a dad, but now he had two. It was pretty cool. He thought about how he was going to ask Dad to teach him the piano as he filled a little pot with water and turned the knob that sparked the oven to life. 

“Wonshik?” a scratchy voice rasped out, followed by a cough, “what are you making?”

“Ramen,” He panicked a little, because he was used to panicking, “I’m sorry,” he sputtered, noticing his dad rounding the corner with messy hair and dark purple bags under his eyes, “Am I not supposed to?” was it a house rule? He didn’t know. He hadn’t had to make his own food since he’d moved in with his new parents. With shaky fingers he started to turn the knob to off but a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I was just going to ask if you would mind making me some too son,” his father replied and relief swelled through him. Those warm hands squeezed him and then disappeared. 

Learning new house rules was stressful and he was very glad this wasn’t one. 

“Pop said to tell you to go back to bed if you came out,” the boy offered back, “But I guess you can eat first.”

Taekwoon snorted and then had to wipe some more green snot on the sleeve of his (actually his husbands) oatmeal colored sweater, “Thanks.” He offered, ruffling Wonshik’s already messy hair. Clearly Hakyeon hadn’t made anyone brush his hair. 

The refrigerator ice machine roared to life making a sharp grinding noise as he held a glass to the paddle and then the clear ‘plink’ of frozen water against crystal glass called out as the water in the pot began to boil. Eight was a weird age, the young composer decided. It was old enough to know how to do things but young enough to be afraid of doing them. 

“Are you feeling better?” Wonshik asked. 

“A little,” the elder responded, “I’m sure I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

“Good,” Wonshik chuckled, “because I don’t think pops can handle your job for another day.”

Taekwoon couldn’t help but chuckle, and maybe bubble with pride just a little, “That’s why I stay home and he goes to a job in the city.” Also because it would be an absolute tragedy for Hakyeon give up dance like that. He was amazing, and the world would be at a great loss without him. 

When the glass was filled, he sipped at it, letting his soothe the crackling fire that was lit up and down his throat. It hurt, and he could feel his tonsils rubbing together when he swallowed. Somehow, his whole body felt too hot, but also too cold and achy through all of his joints. He was sore like back when he’d taken ballet in middle school just so he could meet the dancer boy that lived across the street from him. 

That memory kind of made him smile as he sat down at the table and looked over the stained couch at his adorable sleeping husband, still in his pajamas, half under the coffee table, with two tiny bodies rolled into his chest. 

“Hey dad?” Wonshik inquired, effectively pulling Taekwoon from his nostalgia as the eight-year-old placed bricks of noodles in boiling water.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking, I might want to learn the piano.”

“Really?” Taekwoon mused, trying not to let his excitement spill out his mouth because he knew that children changed their minds about these things all of the time. 

“I mean it,” the brunette whined.

A bowl of noodles came to sit in front of him, and oddly, a cup of coffee…that he had no asked for, “You’re just trying to butter me up now aren’t you?” He asked. 

“I’ll practice everyday,” the boy pressed on, “I promise, and I’ll listen.” 

In all honestly, Taekwoon had hated teaching piano. He’d put himself through college letting angry mothers and their unruly children bang on the keys of his precious grand piano, but this, this was different. Something in Wonshik’s eyes was always so determined; he thought maybe this could go somewhere. 

“How are you going to pay for lessons?” he inquired, “I’m not a cheap teacher.” and he was sure as he started to eat his noodles that Wonshik had not missed the mischief sparkling in his slender eyes. 

“I’ll do chores,” Wonshik accidentally asked instead of saying, “and I’ll never miss a day of homework when school starts. I’ll keep straight A’s.”

“Those…are some really impressive promises…” Dad snorted around a mouth full of noodles, “You talk big.”

“Please?” he begged, “Pretty please?”

Finally Taekwoon lost it, he laughed into his coffee because his precious eight year old son just promised him straight A’s in exchange for piano lesions and he really felt like an actual father. Sometimes it just hit him in the middle of a mundane task, like eating watered down ramen in the middle of the afternoon that he was actually someone’s father. Four someones were his children. It made his bones ache less even though his throat burned as he coughed out the end of his laugh. 

Wonshik pouted, and said, “I’ll let that slide because you’re sick so you aren’t thinking right.” He huffed, crossing his arms over his skinny chest. 

“I love you,” he offered in return collecting his empty bowl and his green coffee mug, “Thanks for dinner Wonshikie.” 

“Goin’ back to bed?” he asked. 

“Yeah. We can start piano lessons tomorrow when your brothers go down for their nap.” Because that was when he usually played his piano two handed without a baby on his thigh. 

That boy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree in December. Instead of a response he received a hug, pulled tight around his waist, a face buried in his ribcage and a muffled “Thanks dad,” pressed somewhere into his shirt. 

The next time Taekwoon managed to make it out of bed the children had all been tucked in, and the air was quiet. Oddly quite, with just the soft hum of the TV playing late night something. He stopped in the hallway without turning on the light, the pale glow of the flatscreen was casting funny shadows on his sleepy husband who was nodding off on the long L shaped piece of the couch. 

He managed to ask,“coming to bed Sweetheart?” his voice was raw and he sniffled out his question mark. 

Hakyeon's lazy gaze turned his way but rather than a verbal response he got something he usually expected out of their infant son. The pout in those dark, plush lips was hilariously exaggerated. The red head even set a crinkle in his brow and reached his arms out, squeezing his long tan fingers the way Hyuk did. 

“And here I thought Hyuk was in bed,” the pianist sassed as he slid forward, pulling the sleeves of that oatmeal sweater over his hands. 

The older man slid over just a touch, barely and inch, and opened his arms to make more room and Taekwoon floated into the space between his husband and the side of the couch. Curling into Hakyeon was the most breathtakingly wonderful thing he had done all day, it was warm, and a strong arm slid around his waist as he rested his head on a solid shoulder. His socked feet were off the edge of the couch just a little bit but he could head the rhythmic pounding of his precious partner's heartbeat. It made the left over rattling in his chest bearable. 

"Feeling any better?" Hakyeon asked, running soothing fingers through thick black hair. 

"Much. Thanks for the day off."

"I don't think I tell you that you're superman often enough." 

A chuckle turned into a little cough and they drifted off together on the couch to the sound of an infomercial of some kind.


End file.
